


Who Needs Marshmallows

by Velace



Series: Countdown [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Some Humor, Weirdly Little Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4936312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velace/pseuds/Velace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her Mercedes breaks down and Regina walks home in the middle of winter, Emma is there to make her feel better. Things rarely go accordingly, however, and Emma finds herself on the wrong (right?) side of her own plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Needs Marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't nearly as smutty as usual for this series, but I hope it's still good.

Regina scowls as she slams the driver side door to her Mercedes. A whole day ruined thanks to the useless hunk of scrap metal she once thought was the only thing in her life she could rely on. Just her luck that the damn thing would choose to break down the one week this month she decided would be hers to abstain from magic. Not only that, her phone had died and in her haste to leave this morning, she'd forgotten to take her charger from the bedroom.

Once again, the universe is conspiring against her.

"I guess I've been too happy lately," she grouses to herself, pulling her coat more firmly about her body before she locks the car and begins the fifteen minute walk to Mifflin Street.

Usually, the distance wouldn't bother her but being that it's the middle of winter, it's really something she would rather do without.  Her office is always unbelievably toasty warm and when her only intention when leaving the house is to go to work, she doesn't much see the point in layers; a fact Emma will no doubt chide her for once she arrives at the house, teeth chattering and almost blue from cold.

She sighs and bows her head as the wind picks up, hands tucked comfortably beneath her arms as she stalks down the sidewalk. Emma is going to be an insufferable nag and, knowing her wife as well as she does, she'll probably rope Henry into it during their next Skype session. If there is one thing their son shares with her wife, it's that they're both cocky little shits who never miss a chance to spout an _I told you so_ when they _suggest_ she do something that she completely ignores.

 _"You should buy a new car before that one breaks down, Mom,"_ Henry would tell her at least once a month. _"It's like four decades old."_

 _"A skirt in winter? Really, Regina?"_   Emma would sigh, every damn morning for those three months a year. _"At least take a coat with you."_

Regina rolls her eyes at their voices in her head. So, she is grateful for the coat suggestion in this moment and yes, Henry had been right; she really should have bought a new car by this point, but that didn't make either of the know-it-alls any less insufferable when it came time to admit she may have been somewhat—unwise, to ignore their concerns.

She chuckles to herself and buries her nose in the collar of her coat. God she loves them. Just thinking about them has the stress slowly leaving her body, as if they're the cure-all for her every woe even when all they're doing is bossing her about. Sometimes she likes to remind herself she was once the Evil Queen, feared across realms, simply so she can pretend she isn't quite as soft as she knows she is when it comes to her family.

By the time she reaches her street, she's shivering and almost running in her heels towards the promise of warmth and home. Rounding the hedge that leads to her driveway, she narrowly misses being run over by the bug as she gasps and jumps back in time to avoid being kneecapped. There's a loud curse and then Emma is throwing open the door, rushing to make sure she's okay.

"Shit babe, I'm sorry—" Regina collapses against her, reveling in the warmth emanating from her. Emma is, literally, never cold. Regina would suspect she uses magic to remain that way, if not for the fact she would sense it were that the case. "Jesus Christ, you're freezing. Come on."

Emma leads her inside, forgetting the bug a moment. Regina stands in the den, jaw clenched, resisting the desire to shiver more; the sound of her teeth clicking is, perhaps, the most annoying sound in the world. Emma disappears and returns scant seconds later, a large fluffy blanket in her arms that she wraps around Regina before guiding her to the couch.

"I'll be back in a minute," she says, vanishing before Regina can so much as nod her head.

She hears the bug start up, followed by the garage door opening and smiles, snuggling deeper into the blanket as she falls to the couch and kicks off her heels, tucking her feet underneath her as she curls into a ball. Emma must have been on her way to see what the hold up was at work, likely having tried her cell first and getting voice mail.

Emma never gets voice mail unless something is wrong.

Three, maybe four minutes pass before the front door opens again and Emma shuffles in, muttering to herself as she struggles out of her coat and boots. She saunters back into the den, pausing beside the couch before she kneels. Regina closes her eyes, smile widening as a hand cups her cheek and she hums in appreciation.

"Car break down?"

Eyes fluttering, Regina searches her face for the smallest hint of humour or mockery and upon finding neither, she nods. "I know I should have listened to you and..."

"Hey," Emma interrupts with a shake of her head. "I don't care about that, my love. I care about _you_ and hypothermia is no joke. Why didn't you poof home?"

"Magic free week," she murmurs, feeling stupid for thinking as she had. Of course Emma would be more concerned about her freezing to death, than rubbing her face in the fact that if she'd only listened, she wouldn't be suffering right now.

"I think we can probably make exceptions in cases like this," Emma replies, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before she stands, hand extended. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs and into the shower, you won't get warm wearing those clothes."

"Or you could use your magic," Regina suggests. She knows Emma is right, but she really doesn't want to move right now. Besides, Emma _can_ use her magic; it isn't her week to abstain.

"Well, I was hoping to do this the old fashioned way, but if you'd rather skip the whole showering together, massage and sex, then—" Emma raises her hand, readying her magic and Regina shoots up from the couch, eyes wide.

"Don't you dare," she snaps, a shudder wracking her frame. Emma smirks and lowers the hand, wiggling fingers at her. "And they call _me_ evil."

"Maybe before you married me," Emma responds smugly as Regina grabs her hand and stands. She chuckles, a nose immediately burying itself in the crook of her neck. She wraps Regina in an embrace, rubbing her back as she concentrates on the bathroom adjacent to their room and transports them there.

* * *

 

Wrapped in a towel, Regina frowns as she pads barefoot into their bedroom. She thought Emma intended to join her in the shower, but when she'd left the bathroom, she hadn't returned and Regina just assumed she'd be out here readying the room for the massage she was promised.

Seeing nor hearing nothing to indicate Emma is nearby, Regina sighs and walks over to the wardrobe. Disappointed as she is, she's at least warm now and that has improved her mood considerably since leaving her office. She makes a mental note to call Michael in the morning and see if he can do anything about her car as she searches through her clothes, wanting something comfortable rather than her usual fair of nighttime wear as she dismisses the many negligees hanging in the closet.

Her eyes fall on the small chest of drawers tucked away in the corner, and she smiles, bending down to tug open one drawer where she finds a familiar pair of shorts. Letting her towel slip to the floor, she pulls them on and smirks at their fit; hanging low on her hips. Where her clothes are often formal and meant to deliver a statement, Emma's are undoubtedly all about comfort and she can already feel her disappointment fading away.

A strangled whine snaps her from her admiration and she turns on her heel, somewhat startled, but more than acquainted with that particular sound. She cocks an eyebrow and allows what little disappointment remains to come out in the form of annoyance that laces her tone. "And where did you run off to?"

"I… um." Emma licks her lips before she blinks and shakes her head. "What?"

Regina laughs softly and moves forward. Feelings aside, knowing she can still drive Emma to speechlessness has a way of lifting her spirits and as those eyes rake down her body, she can't ignore the pull in her stomach that echoes between her legs. "You disappeared," she says, coming to stand before her wife and tracing that chiseled jaw with the tip of her finger. "I was hoping we'd shower together, but you never came back. Where did you go?"

"We…" Emma trails off and her cheeks flush. She rubs the back of her neck and her slack expression of borderline awe turns sheepish. "I went to look for candles… for the massage… but we're out."

Regina tilts her head, brow furrowing. Of all the excuses she thought Emma might have, that is—well, not outside the realm of possibility, but it definitely hadn't been in the top ten reasons she came up with in the shower. Emma is rarely the romantic, sappy type but it's in moments like these where Regina remembers the few instances in which Emma has lived, wonderfully, up to her family's _charming_ reputation.

"Been using them on another woman while I'm at work?" She teases and bites the inside of her cheek at the look of outrage she receives in response.

"Wh—no," Emma almost shouts before she realizes Regina is joking and groans. "This is why I never do nice things for you," she adds, pointing a finger at her. "You're mean and... a butthead."

Deep, throaty laughter fills the room and Regina pouts as she drapes her arms across shoulders, breasts rubbing against the coarse fabric of Emma's sweater. "Be that as it may, you owe me a massage and a long, hard _fuck_."

Emma groans again, shaking her head as she settles her hands on hips. "I said sex, there was absolutely no mention of fucking at all."

"And believe me, I was extremely disappointed by that," Regina assures, grinning. "But I figured all you needed to rectify it was a little direction."

"I dunno…" Emma feigns thought, letting her eyes travel down to where their breasts press together. "You look pretty warm to me, maybe we should do something else."

"Oh no," Regina counters, purring, teeth nipping her chin. "I am very, _very_ cold. Look at my nipples, Emma. Look how stiff they are, they're simply begging for a nice hot mouth to warm them up."

Emma laughs but the sound catches in her throat, stifled by her moan as Regina captures her lower lip between teeth and bites down. She squeezes the warm, soft flesh beneath her palms and closes her eyes, her own nipples hardening as a tongue soothes the sting before forcing her lips apart and thrusting into her mouth.

It becomes harder to breathe the longer the kiss goes on, but Emma doesn't want to stop. She can't stop. Instead of pulling away, she gathers Regina in her arms and thighs wrap themselves around her waist, reminiscent of the hundred or so times they've done this before.

Emma carries Regina in the cradle of her arms, their movements toward the bed effortless even as Regina grinds against her stomach. Their mouths vibrate with moans as both refuse to end their connection; tongues dancing, exploring, tasting—savoring. Emma lowers her down to their bed and settles comfortably on top of her, adding a welcome pressure that causes thighs to tighten an already iron grip around her body.

When they do eventually part, their chests heave in time and they stare into hooded, lust filled eyes. Emma feels her grin before it appears, her mind still short a few circuits but conscience enough to remember they are skipping a few steps. "Still interested in that massage?"

Regina smirks and throws her arms up around Emma's neck, pulling her back down to where their lips brush as she speaks. "I do take i.o.us," she murmurs, voice husky.

"Good to know," Emma replies, sex throbbing to the sound of Regina's quiet laugh before their lips meet once more. She sinks into the kiss with a content sigh, muscles relaxing one by one until she's almost limp; Regina is perfection personified, and her mouth is no exception as it coaxes her mind back to thoughts of pleasure and little else.

Before long, Regina has their positions reversed. Emma would be shocked if it didn't happen so often that the only time she's surprised is when she's the one still on top by the end. Regina isn't so much dominant as she is eager, and it had taken Emma awhile before she'd learned the difference but once she had, it became impossible to ignore the growing excitement in those beautiful, brown eyes.

Rising to her elbows when Regina sits up and scoots back to sit astride her thighs, Emma lifts her hips as nimble fingers loosen her belt and lower the zip on her jeans. Nails lightly scratch over her hips before fingers curl beneath the waistband of her shorts and Regina completely strips her lower half, backing up further, throwing shorts and jeans over a shoulder before she resumes straddling her.

Hands slide beneath her sweater and Emma hums, lashes fluttering as fingers glide across her stomach. Her stomach flips pleasantly, the heat slowly expanding as her desire grows. Regina pushes the sweater up and over breasts and lowers her mouth, tracing the muscles of Emma's stomach with the tip of her tongue. Emma groans, threading a hand through her hair as she falls on to her back.

Before Regina, she'd never known her stomach was so sensitive. She thinks it likely isn't—that it's only because it's Regina that her body responds the way it does, always happy to receive whatever attention her wife wishes to bestow upon it. Regina's fascination with her stomach is the sole reason she keeps it so firm, however, under no delusion that she wouldn't be the size of a house by now from all the junk food she shovels into her mouth, not to mention the second—sometimes third—helpings she has whenever Regina cooks.

A nip of teeth to the skin above her bellybutton snaps her back to the present and she looks down into the smirking face of her wife. "We're getting to the good part, Swan, don't disappear on me now," Regina purrs, winking before her mouth descends and Emma gasps.

Her thighs clamp down on the head between them and her hips roll as Regina alternates between sucking on her folds and dragging her tongue through wetness. Emma places a hand on her stomach, pushing against the pressure within that builds and builds until she thinks she might explode. Regina is _ravenous_ and Emma is delirious with the pleasure of it.

When she comes, it is sudden and messy and—so oddly satisfying that when Regina raises her head and claims she's, "Better than hot chocolate," Emma can do nothing but laugh as she throws an arm across her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The title makes sense now, right? If not, just... pretend. I sigh enough to warrant concern over my oxygen usage as it is.


End file.
